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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in ratzkywatzky's LiveJournal:

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    Saturday, August 11th, 2007
    9:22 am
    Ingmar Bergman dream

    I watch two separate Bergman films in which an actor (Bergman's brother-in-law) leaps from some sort of pedestal, several stories high, to the street. In one of the films, he is escaping from the Nazis, and sprains his ankle. Apparently, this was a stunt speciality of Bergman's brother-in-law, so he always made room in his films for a character to do this. Or at least as long as he was married to the guy's sister.

    Later, I am going to speak at a memorial service for Bergman. I'm a little woozy, and I have a wound on my arm that won't heal. A mysterious woman walks up, removes the bandage over my wound, and, with tweezers, removes from the wound three of Ingmar Bergman's sperm. It was some sort of effort to impregnate me! It's clear that this was not done with the approval of Bergman himself, but rather some of his hangers-on, in an attempt to make him immortal. I realize that I am going to have to discuss this in my eulogy, and the audience is not going to be happy with me. But the truth must be told.

    Saturday, July 28th, 2007
    8:42 pm
    Leopold/Loeb dream
    Alan and I have made plans to kill someone. I'm supposed to lure the sucker to a modern-style house in the woods (Belgium, I think). There is a slight change of plans when I show up with someone who was not our original mark. As a matter of fact, although Alan has never met him, I believe that this is the guy who originated this hideous plot. (Which seems to mean that I brought the idea to Alan, and perhaps even presented it as my own.) There are furtive, annoyed glances exchanged between Alan and myself, but it is clear that everything will carry forward as planned. This is not revenge, this is not for monetary gain, this will be purely and simply a thrill killing. Alan is going to carry out the actual murder, so I absent myself from the room. This means that I don't exactly know how it is accomplished, but I suspect that an icepick is involved.
    I return for clean-up. Body is rolled up in a rug, blood is mopped up (surprisingly little). And then, the finishing touches. Through his scientific research, Alan has discovered that a match flame passed over an area that has had blood spilled on it will destroy any residual traces that may remain, no matter how infinitesimal. This is accomplished, and, despite my uneasiness about it, there is no scorching at all on the wood floor. 
    My lesson? Always trust the scientist!
    Sunday, November 12th, 2006
    10:16 am
    Scorsese dream

    It's late at night. The full moon shines over the lake. Martin Scorsese is on a raft. He poles out into the center of the lake and begins to quietly drop things into the blackness of the water. All of the objects on the raft are murder weapons used in the films of D.W. Griffith.

    Monday, October 30th, 2006
    8:59 pm
    Sunday Bloody Sunday dream
    I dreamed that I'd taken my godchildren to see something at the Northwest Film Forum. For some reason, the show was late getting started. Before I knew it, Rhys, my godson, had gone down front to entertain the audience to keep it from getting restless. He launched into a rendition of U2's Sunday Bloody Sunday. He only knew the first few lines (which, coincidentally, is all I know), but he did a smashing job, and got great applause. He was beaming afterwards, and I was very proud of his showmanship.  But I was totally puzzled by his choice of material. Where did he get it? It wasn't his parents, and it certainly wasn't me, as I'm totally bored by U2--maybe I'd have played him the song of the same name by Sabbath, but never U2.

    Tuesday, July 18th, 2006
    10:13 am
    Slang mugger dream

    This was dreamed on August 21, 1994:
    My cousin Marianne is telling me about a publishing venture she's involved with in Portland.  Apparently city laws restrict publishing, so that only a finite number of books can be published from each zip code, and what is published within that zip code is decided by a lottery.  So if an author wants to publish two books in one year, the author needs to maintain a separate residence in another zip code.  I thought that was needlessly cumbersome, but Marianne assured me it kept a lot of crap from being published. She showed me a dictionary they had published recently.  I showed her the book I was reading, The Dictionary of American Slang, a multi-volume set. She was all like, "Why would you read that for pleasure?"  I tried to find some of the words that weren't obscene to show her how much entertainment value the book had (although the obscenities were the really entertaining part).  I found the word "mugger".  According to this dictionary, the most important meaning was "sweetheart", with "kettle" second!  "Mugger" had only come to mean "robber" recently.  "Now, next time you see Doss"--that's her husband--"say, 'come here, mugger', and see what he does!" I say.

    Later, I'm walking along by the hospitals near Madison, reading the introduction to the Slang Dictionary.  What I'm reading is about Charlie Parker wandering the streets of Paris on the last day of his life: "stoned, immaculate", says the book. I walk by a tall, rangy street person, not looking up from my book.  Suddenly, I'm grabbed from behind, my arms pinned with one of his.  He tries to reach in my pocket with his free hand.  "Sir, sir," I say loudly, hoping for assistance from somebody who will recognize my plight, "I don't have any money to give you!" (Which is a lie.) I wonder about calling him "mugger", to see if that will calm him down.  He wrestles me to the ground, and I awake.

    Wednesday, July 12th, 2006
    2:48 pm
    Alienation dream

    This was dreamed on July 26, 1994:

    I was going to a family reunion, which was being held near the SunBirds flea market in Centralia. I made a detour into the flea market where I saw my friend Don the Drug Dealer at a booth. He had a record player playing an Yma Sumac album, Voice of the Xtabay. I was really excited, because only months before Don had told me how rare this album was, [yes, I know it isn't actually rare], and I was happy because he'd finally found a copy.  I assumed, correctly, that he'd found a second copy, which I proceeded to buy from him. 
    Browsing the flea market some more, I found a thick graphic novel, one I'd never seen before, although the art resembled that of Alex Toth. It portrayed the interlocking adventures of a bunch of extremely isolated people in an urban environment. It began with a boy, wandering through a cityscape, in which nobody notices him.  Finally he seems to begin to hallucinate.  All of the signs, and awnings, and shop windows have messages for him, orders or consolations, advice or threats.  What has happened, and what happens repeatedly in this book, is that an individual goes so unnoticed that eventually the city takes pity on them and begins to notice them in lieu of the rest of humanity
    After a certain point, a woman notices the boy acting strangely and says something directly to him, at which point, his existence confirmed, he is relieved of his burden, which then passes on to the woman.  She experiences an increased detachment from everyone else as people shove by her, and look through her, and don't return her calls--until finally the messages start appearing to her.  
    This pattern repeats throughout the book--I only read through two more character arcs after her story before deciding to buy it, so I don't know how it resolves.  
    After buying the book, I walk over to the picnic tables where my relatives are.  My mother has filled a plate for my father [at this time, he had an injured arm from a chain saw accident], and is now going back for her own plate.  My father is coming to the table with a cup of coffee in his good hand.  I wave the telephone-book-sized graphic novel in the air and announce, "This comic book is about me!"

    Thursday, June 22nd, 2006
    8:00 am
    wish fulfillment dream

    I dreamed I was walking down Pike to work in the morning. As I pass on the street opposite Nordstrom's, I heard someone call me name. It was my old college chum Nick! I start to cross the street, watching for cars, but it has become a baggage carousel at an airport, so it is hard to navigate. Nick is going, "That's right, buddy, come on, come on," in a mock-threatening way, like I've challenged him to a fight and he's telling me he's prepared for it. I make it across, and prepare to ask him what he's doing there, but he turns around to get some coffee first, then kneels down by his bags. I say, "So, what, are you coming or going?" When the person kneeling looks up at me, it turns out to be this woman I've had an incredible crush on for, like, ever! She half smiles, and says, "I'm staying." I ask what she means, and she says that she's been looking for a house to buy in town, that she's moving back here for good. My heart does a little leap; I like the way she's looking at me.

    We're up on the monorail platform, leaning on the edge. The woman is between me and one of her friends, a Joan Blondell type. She says to the friend, in a quiet voice, but not too quiet for me to hear: "I'm letting go of Laurence. I thought it was time. There are too many opportunities here." Again, I feel the movement in my chest. I exchange a quick glance with her friend. When they're done talking, I say to the woman, "So, is Laurence your, um, heartbreak man?" "Yes", she replies, "but not any more." It seems to me that I've heard her mention Laurence quite a few times since I've known her, but never directly to me--I'd always suspected that he had something to do with her standoffishness, though.

    I position myself between the women, a silly smile taking over my face. I put my arm around each woman's waist, lightly. Again, her friend gives me a little knowing smile, and I give her a sort of Charlie Chaplin sideways kick (somehow I'm easily able to reach her right shoulder with this kick) and her smile grows as she understands how elated I feel. I'm so fantastically happy that I look out at the gray drizzle and say, "It's such a beautiful day today; not like yesterday." Then I remember that yesterday was sunny, and that most people might not agree with my assessment. Everything does seem excessively beautiful to me, though; I can hardly bear it--the rolling green hills below the station are like paradise. By way of explanation, I say that I live in Seattle precisely because I find this drizzle so beautiful, that a sunny climate would make me weary. Basically, I'm babbling nervously.

    We go down to the park and get on the merry-go-round, which I am apparently able to propel by my sheer giddiness. I still have my arms around the women; we're all relaxed and happy. I feel the woman's lips brush my cheek; my heart does that thing. In return, I give her a little nuzzle behind the ear, my face buried in her soft brown curls. God, she smells good--what does she smell like? I realize that it is perhaps a little early in our relationship to sit there sniffing her; there'll be plenty of time to smell her later.

    One of her co-workers is also along for the ride. He is holding on to a puppy I've picked up somewhere, but now he has it by the scruff of the neck (I think this is inspired by a scene from Sympathy for Lady Vengeance which I saw last night). I tell him not to hurt the dog, and he lets go of its neck but ends up holding it by one leg. I go over to take it away from him (he doesn't seem very bright), but I'm so happy that I can't even be angry at a puppy abuser. I say, "I don't think it's hurt, but I have to take it to the vet today anyway, to find out what it is...I mean, how it is. To find out how it is." Then I realize that by correcting my error in speech, I've missed an opportunity to be amusing. When I said "what it is", I was referring to its sex, which I clearly didn't need to know, I knew it was female. But I could have said, "I guess if the vet can't tell me what it is, I need to find a new vet!" Or, even better, if they'd said, "but you know what it is", I'd say, "no, like the vet could tell me if it's a doctor or a lawyer or a baker, you know?" Ha! Hilarious! Why is it so important that I say something funny? Because in all the time I've spent with this woman, I have yet to make her laugh. This is a very bad omen...

    Friday, June 2nd, 2006
    3:30 pm
    Dracula Dolly Dream
    I'm at the Secret Festival, waiting for Whitney to show up. The movie is ready to start and she isn't here yet! The lights go down, and the movie begins. What could it be? What could it be? The title comes up: Dracula! Oh, man! It's this new version of Dracula I've been reading about! Starring that Welsh actor! Or is he Basque? After the credits, there is a thunder of horses hooves---it's a flashback to the early days of Vlad the Impaler. I run out into the hall to see if Whitney is on her way, because she can't miss this! But she's not coming. I go back inside, and there she is! Sitting on my Aunt Ruby's couch! (Apparently, for my greater viewing convenience, the film festival has agreed to let me bring my Aunt Ruby's couch to screenings.) Well, that's a relief.
    The movie jumps ahead to the near future. In a major urban center, there is a curfew just before sundown because of the depredations of some sort of bloodsucker. There are not a lot of people on the street, but there should be even fewer because sundown is fast approaching. People are on a moving sidewalk propelling them towards the trams that will take them to their homes. But it's 6:15! Sunset is only minutes away! As a safety measure, just before the last streaks of light leave the sky, these walkways seal completely closed so that nothing can get in. This is unfortunate for those who are stuck inside them for the night, but it's better than being bloodsucked. My girlfriend and I (for I am now a part of this movie) are very close to our tram when the gates seal off. We whine a little, but, in this futuristic society, we have become used to these everyday homeland security inconveniences. But in front of us, a lady tries one of the exit doors and it opens! The seal is malfunctioning! This sets off a panic as everyone rushes for the doors, as the trams to home are now our only hope! We remain calm(ish), as we are uncertain whether or not there is really a bloodsucker threat. But when we see a place on a tram, we grab it! My girlfriend notices a mosquito enter the tram, as well....
    We're riding along, and my girlfriend and I are talking, when we hear a strange noise from the back of the tram. When we turn to look, we see every other passenger sprawled, dead, covered in gore! We look over at the driver, and she, too is dead, and we can observe the hideous puncture wounds in her throat! The van is out of control! And who, or what, has done this terrible thing? I grab for the wheel and get us to the side of the road. Then, I hear my girlfriend scream! I turn and there is a large figure in a black cape trying to bite her neck! I whack him with a briefcase, and he turns to deal with me. We tussle--he is much stronger than me, and I feel his nails digging into my wrists, when suddenly he screams in pain! My girlfriend has found a pair of chopsticks in her purse and jabbed them into his back. This is not enough to kill him, but it is enough to weaken him and, amazingly, shrink him down to barbiedoll size. He bind him so that he cannot get away and drive on, debating what to do.
    There was actually a fairly long road trip section here, full of dialogue, all of which I have forgotten. It was quite funny, I know. The gist of it was that, over time, it became clear that my girlfriend was finding Dracula much more charming and interesting than me, and I was worried that her resolve to destroy him would weaken. Occasionally, I would pick up Dracula in my fist and yell at him, but he maintained his temper and always came out the winner in these exchanges. I found a toothpick and decided to try to kill him with that, but it broke on his chest, rather than plunging through to his heart.
    We found an art supply store, where I hoped to find a paintbrush which I could sharpen and use to dispatch the creature. Dracula was starting to regain his strength, and he was doing a lot of wiggling. The elderly Hungarian lady who ran the store gave me a linoleum cutter and said, "Whack him over the head with this. It'll keep him still for a while." Holding Drac, I felt something funny under his clothing. I lifted his cape and white shirt, and there was a leather chestplate! No wonder the toothpick broke. "Jesus Christ", I said. "Don't say that accursed name! It causes me such agony!" replied the vampire. I got the feeling he was faking, though. I ripped off his chestplate: "Look at this cheesy thing!" It turned out to be plastic, not leather. Hard plastic, though, but not nearly as stylish as you would expect Dracula to wear. And then I got a real shock...Dracula himself was made of plastic, at least from midbody down. And he actually had a cross imprinted on the plastic! I knew this cross-killing thing was just a smokescreen...Upon closer inspection of his body (no sex organs, either), I saw that it was actually the lower half of some Catholic Saint doll--it might have been St. Nicholas Factor, who would cause water to boil when dunked in it--who knew that there were dollies of all the martyrs? Now I was curious: Did Dracula *always* have doll parts, or only when he was dolly size? I resolved to get an answer before I dispatched him, but then I woke up.
    Wednesday, December 14th, 2005
    12:43 pm
    dead grandpa dream

    Dreamed January 10, 1995:

    I've stayed home from church Sunday morning. I laze around. I don't have any pants on because I started to change into different pants and got bored before I could pick out a new pair. I take a nap in the grass. I wake up, wander back to the house. Then I hear my parents car pull into the garage. I hurry up and dress. I look at the clock: it's 2:00! They should have been home hours ago! We were supposed to leave on a vacation that afternoon. I rush outside, having hurriedly packed my suitcase.

    Imagine my surprise at seeing my grandfather's corpse draped over the trunk of the car! My mom says they had to bring him home from the hospital to prepare his coffin. I say that I was under the impression that he was already buried. Then I notice him start to move. "He's not dead," I say, but no one listens. He starts to speak. I grab my mom and say, "Look, he's okay! But shouldn't you take him back to the hospital?" "Oh, he's dead alright. I just asked him to tell us what happened at the hospital. He'll be quiet soon."

    Tuesday, December 13th, 2005
    8:49 am
    Drew Barrymore dream

    Dreamed Jan 8, 1995:

    The phone rings, and since I am still sleeping, Erin answers it. I hear her talking to the person on the other end. I can tell she thinks it is Carys, because she says, "I'm so sorry we missed your show, we really wanted to see it." However, although I can't quite hear what the person on the other end is saying, I can tell it's not Carys. I think it is Sharon Black. I realize that even though Erin probably doesn't know this person, I've probably "missed a show" of practically everyone I know, so it would apply just enough so that whoever's on the other end wouldn't think it was odd. Danielle comes out of the bathroom to ask who's on the phone. Erin tells the person on the phone to hold on, because she's going to use the bathroom. Danielle says, "No, you can't use it. I've got my contacts soaking in there." Erin says, "That doesn't matter. Your contacts can wait." They both abandon the phone, presumably to bicker about use of the bathroom, so I crawl out of bed and pick up the phone.

    It turns out to be my friend from Centralia (Olympia now) Susan Roewe, she's calling to ask about the party tonight. I'm surprised because I had no idea I was throwing a party. She says that there's definitely a party and her husband, Dr. Albert, says he's already called me and told me, and it's too late to stop now. I can't quite figure out what the party is for, but I suspect it is in honor of our old drama professor, Philip Wickstrom.

    That night the house is packed. Mostly it's people from Centralia, with a few of my closest Seattle friends, and a few assorted relatives. The relatives surprise me, because I can't imagine who invited them, since I know I didn't invite anyone. I spot a woman who looks very familiar, but I can't place her. She looks up and smiles and I realize it is Drew Barrymore. I immediately go and look for Erin, because I know she'll want to meet her. I can't find Erin anywhere, although I don't go in the kitchen because I can tell that too many of my relatives are in there and I don't want to talk to them. I go out to the garage, where a band is supposed to be getting ready to play. I am in a room above the garage looking down on it (kind of like a hayloft). The room is packed and I think, "oh, no, I'm not going to be able to find anyone in that room." I walk toward the stage, intending to climb down the ladder onto the stage and say something about Drew to the room. As I get above the stage though, I see that what I thought was a sea of people is actually dozens of stacks of plastic 7-Up bottles waiting for the recycling truck. I feel sheepish, even though no one saw me getting ready to tell a bunch of 7-Up bottles that Drew Barrymore was in the house. I go back in and I see both Drew and Erin descending the staircase. They both have their hair up in a bun, and they are both wearing one-piece bathing suits. "Oh!" I say. "I see you've already met!"

    Monday, December 12th, 2005
    9:20 pm
    teleporting cat dream

    Dreamed on my birthday, Jan 7, 1995:


    I dreamed I had moved into a house with my lover, who was a man. He looked like he might be about ten years older than me. He was no one I recognized; kind of a Hollywood casting call Gay Man. We were unpacking. I had a box full of videotapes sitting in the center of the floor. My cat teleported into one stack of videos, and came out the top of another stack of videos. Do you understand? He actually entered the videos! His molecules displaced and he went through them. My special friend asked why he was doing that and I said he was looking for videos with cats on them. Then my cat walked through the wall. "God, I wish he wouldn't do that," I said. My lover said, "All cats do that from time to time." "Well, he never used to do that. It drives me nuts," I complain. We continue unpacking. The door to the street is open. The streetcorner is visible. We live in a sort of storefront. As I'm lifting a vase out of a box, I look out the door and see my cat standing by a fire hydrant. Something is very wrong about him. I think his fangs have grown longer, but then I see one of the fangs break and I realize it's a long string of drool. Also, his lower jaw seems to be missing: he looks like the toothless Bumble in Rudolph, but he seems very distressed. "Call the vet, now!" I order my lover, and I run out to the curb. People waiting to cross the street are looking in horror at the toothless drooling thing that was my cat. I briefly wonder if this is a side-effect of his teleporting. I pick him up and he doesn't resist. He looks pleadingly at me and doesn't make a sound. I carry him back inside. My lover has not phoned the vet. "Goddammit, I'll do it myself! Could you at least look up the number for me?" I don't want to let go of my cat, but my lover refuses to help, so I cradle my huge toothless cat in one arm and reach for what I take to be one of those little Capitol Hill telephone directories I spy resting on our mantlepiece. It turns out to be a directory of phone sex lines, one number per page, each illustrated with a semi-nude man or woman. "What the fuck is this? What's it doing here?" I scream and throw it at this guy who's in my house. I reach for another phone book to try to find the number of the Capitol Hill Animal Clinic. It turns out to be the white pages, so I have to look in the back of the book. It isn't there. I close the book and see that the only phone book in the house seems to be a 1972 Centralia directory.

    Sunday, December 11th, 2005
    9:23 am
    baby sifter dream

    I'm at a small grocery store, with a list of items I will need to make a recipe I've found somewhere.  One of the items is Ritz Crackers. Why would I want to make a recipe that features Ritz Crackers, I wonder. Nevertheless, I persist. Ritz Crackers, however, are sold out, unless I buy a three-pack that includes Peanut Butter Ritz Crackers and Jalapeno Ritz Crackers. I overhear a couple of women talking.  Apparently, there seems to be a mysterious problem with childbirth lately.  Very few babies are actually being born, and they are born so small that no one can be sure they're alive.  What the doctors have to do is put anything that might be a baby into this big flour sifter and shake it back and forth--all the bits of eggshell fall out, and what is left, if it is crying, is a baby.  In any case, this lady does not think she wants to have a baby until they figure out a better way to do this procedure.

    Later, I am at the theatre, heading down a steep flight of stairs (this could be the old Music Box theater in Seattle, and their stairs down from the restrooms). There is a woman in front of me who is having trouble with her legs.  She suddenly seems unable to walk--the only way she can negotiate the stairs is to sort of hop outward and then plummet, trying not to topple over when she hits the next level. I'm very concerned about her. I think she needs immediate medical attention.  She is with a friend who has gone on ahead to get their seats.  I catch up with the plummeting woman and ask her if she wants me to call 911 or her doctor. She says, no, that she is fine. Nevertheless, it causes my stomach to clench to observe her newest strategy: she is kind of pinballing from wall to wall, occasionally grabbing something from which she can launch herself.  She misses a target and lands on the floor.  I help her get her feet under herself again, and insist that she just lean on me, and hop to her seat.  She accepts my offer and I lead her into the theater. When she sees her friend, she enters the row behind their seats, and then vaults over the back of the seat. Some people have to do everything the hard way, I think.  Then I spot my Dead Friend Jerry. He has not saved a seat for me.  He looks sheepish, and points to his sweater sitting on one single seat, his own.

    Still later, I am at work.  Alan comes up to see if I'm getting caught up with my huge backlog.  "Carys would have time to help you with that if you need it." "Thanks," I tell him, "But if I'm going to do this job, I need to figure a way to get it all done myself." "Good attitude!" he says.  What I don't tell him is that I'm too busy looking up movie websites to get my work done.

    Even later still, I go to visit Dale and Misha. Misha looks displeased to see me.  I realize that this is because I always bring over a carton of gifts for Dale that are usually no more than the detritus I've uncovered in my childhood home. Dusty, and musty, and incomplete, I've been loading Dale (and Misha) down with clutter. I assure Misha that this time I'm actually going to take some things away! There is a stack of washrags I'd inadvertently left there which I plan to take home (especially now that they appear freshly laundered.  Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Shriver are over, apparently on a door-to-door information campaign to let people know that California is doing something about the baby sifter problem. Inside, on a couch, is Frank Booth. "How's your fuck, Frank?" I say.

    Saturday, December 10th, 2005
    3:00 pm
    prequel to dead friend dream
    Dreamed December 27, 1994, almost 11 years before the dead friend dream of last week:
    My friend Jerry was alive and I ran into him outside the library. Apparently they had done reconstructive surgery on him and it had taken several years of therapy to get him to be okay again (both physical and mental therapy). No one else knew he was alive, and he was really worried because some woman had bought him a car before he killed himself and he thought he was going to have to pay her back if she found out he was alive.
    Friday, December 9th, 2005
    12:22 pm
    Tarkovsky dream

    Dreamed on Christmas Eve, 1994:


    I was watching a video of the Tarkovsky film, Stalker, with Michelle. I was distressed, because she found it incredibly corny and was laughing out loud at almost every line of dialogue (not that there was much dialogue). "A Russian wouldn't say that," she said, by way of explanation. At some point Michelle turned into my parents. In the movie, there was a parallel story to the story of the Stalker. It featured Harvey Keitel. He was walking along a beach looking moody. It occured to me that Harvey Keitel and this plotline actually belonged in Solaris, not Stalker. Harvey called out the name of a woman on the beach, she stood up, she was nude from the waist up. My parents seemed slightly scandalized. I was wondering if I should mention that Tarkovsky was the most profoundly Christian of filmmakers. My mom said of Harvey, "So that's the fellow who walked into the surf [this was a reference to his nude scene in The Piano--although it sounds more like A Star is Born]. He doesn't seem so bad." My dad didn't have anything to say.

    Thursday, December 8th, 2005
    8:00 am
    Quentin Tarentino opera dream
    Dreamed December 18, 1994:

    I went to the opera. It was opening night. I had the worst seat in the house. The diva, an Asian woman who traditionally played the lead in the first opera of the season, was celebrating the opening by walking down the aisle throwing roses to the audience. Since I was right up against the stage, and way to the side (so that the supertitles were impossible to see, and the back of the stage was our of my sightlines) I got her very last rose. I fumbled it, and had to search under my seat for it.

    My friend Pam was sitting in the row ahead of me, and that surprised me because I'd thought she was in Taiwan. I felt a pang of guilt, because I hadn't told Carys I was coming to the opera. It had been one of those spur of the moment things. The stage looked very much like the Napavine High School stage, except much bigger. The opera opened with dialogue in English! I got the feeling that the director had re-written the dialogue and taken away the music, except for the parts that were going to be played by the really good singers. So there was lots of talking. I kept forgetting what opera I was watching, and the plot has completely escaped me now, although the opening scene reminded me of L'il Abner!

    There was a post-show discussion (at this point, the auditorium resembled that of the Egyptian theater) and Carys stood up to offer her opinions! And she had really good seats! And she hadn't told me she was coming either! Anyway, what she was saying was that the person who directed this opera, Quentin Tarentino, really understood the emotional content better than any other director of a production of this opera that she had seen. She was speaking in academic lingo, so I was rolling my eyes, even though all her points were valid. (I forget now what they were.)

    Wednesday, December 7th, 2005
    7:42 am
    honey-colored bear dream

    Dreamed December 17, 1994:

    Erin picked me up in a station wagon. It was the Entertainment Tonight van, which she had borrowed from her father, who is the cameraman for Entertainment Tonight. We were going to work. I said, "but you don't even have a license, why did you decide to drive today? Are you comfortable doing this?" Erin said, "Don't worry; the van has feminine protection."

    The back seat of the station wagon was down, and she had me crawl in the back window and fix it before we could leave. Sammantha [a honey-colored, sassy, and self-centered bear] was there, kind of sprawled in a corner. As Erin was driving, Sammantha distracted her with some comment about ice cream and we had a close call going around a corner. "Did you see that?" Erin said; "Were we almost dead?"

    We parked the car someplace above the freeway and walked downtown. We had to pass through the UW campus.Erin was carrying Sammantha under her coat, and Sammantha was not happy about it. "Let me out, you dirty birds!" she said. 

    We stopped off in By George (one of the UW food service places) to grab some breakfast. Erin met some people she knew there, including a disadvantaged youngster that they all had given money to for an operation. Apparently, the operation was going to be more expensive than originally thought, so Erin gave a speech about how everyone had to give a little more, and then she passed the hat. I gave some money, even though I wondered if I should, since I wasn't one of the original contributors. I noticed that Erin looked just like my old friends the Richey twins, except she was much taller.

    Tuesday, December 6th, 2005
    7:40 am
    John Travolta dream

    Erin and I were at the Capitol Hill Cinemas, in the large theatre on your left as you go in, watching a remake of Saturday Night Fever, still starring John Travolta. They'd updated it though, and instead of wanting to be the best dancer, now he wanted to be a DJ for a club. It opened with the famous sequence where he's walking down the street with his boombox, but instead of Stayin'Alive, it's playing some acid house stuff. All the people on the street are shown at about waist level. There's a shot of a guy holding a dog--I don't remember if this shot is in the original movie, but in the dream I knew it was, in fact this whole sequence was shot-for-shot the same, just bizarrely updated--and in this new version the guy holding the dog is a dwarf, and the dog is a huge grotesque stuffed toy.

    Anyway, John gets to this newstand [it's the Bulldog in the Broadway Market, but it's staffed by big burly New Yawk newsguys], and he's loitering around there. The phone at the cash register rings, and the big guy answers. "What? Tony? No, there's no fukkin Tony here!" And John pipes up, "That's for me!" Apparently he doesn't have a phone, and has given out the newstand number as his own. Reluctantly, the newsguy hands over the phone. He's creeped out by Tony {John}, because he's flamboyantly effeminate. "Faggit", he mutters. Tony shrieks in joy, because the phonecall is telling him he's just got the DJ spot at the most prestigious rave in town!

    There follows a long scene where Tony is talking, arranging the business part of his gig. Erin gets bored and gets up to go to the restroom. After what seems a very long time, she comes back. The talk talk talk scene is still going on. Erin says, "The Lion King is playing across the hall; let's slip into that." I agree, and we walk up the aisle, only to find our way blocked by an usher. It seems there's been flocks of people deserting Saturday Night Fever for The Lion King, and the ushers are trying to put a stop to it.

    Monday, December 5th, 2005
    7:58 am
    Green Day dream

    This was dreamed on October 25, 1994:

    Carys and I are going to see a concert. The opening band is Green Day, and I'm really excited about seeing them. They open with "Longview", although the music sounds more like "Bellevue, WA" by Catfood. What I'd never understood about the song before is that it is about a teenaged boy in a mall in Longview when he hears the news on the radio that Kurt Cobain is dead, and how this affects him. I touched my face and realized my cheeks were wet. I was deeply moved by the song. Then the music got softer and Billie Joe went into this recitative that had no relation to the rest of the song that I could tell. At one point, he speaks about "coloreds" preying on underage girls.(He was speaking ironically.) Here, Carys had turned into Erin, and Erin leaned over and said "What movie is that?" I had no clue, and kind of shushed her, because I was trying to figure out what this guy's point was. Then Erin turned back into Carys.

    The recitative continued, and it became a pretty cliched hero/savior fantasy, with the narrator as kind of an ubermensch, yet sensitive. This visibly irritated Carys, who was heaving sighs like, "look what I have to put up with" and shifting restlessly. The music started getting louder, and suddenly, uncharacteristically, jamming occured. Then Billie Joe sang the last line, which was something like, "Until my tears stop flowing." This line seemed to placate Carys momentarily, although the boy behind us said, "I love the song, until it gets to that line." Carys applauded half-heartedly, and then said she was too hungry to watch any more of this, and went to look for something to eat. I followed, but then got mad because I wanted to watch the show. I stomped off without telling her anything and went downtown and ate at a little lunch counter. I spent quite a while there, reading the paper, until it occured to me that I hadn't told Carys where I was going at all, and she might actually be worried when she finds out I'm gone. So I started back up the hill. I stopped off in my parents closet, where I was distressed by the stepladder they had in it to reach the high shelves. I thought they might fall off. I wondered why they had a lamp in there, and then I realized it was because the ceiling light cast so many shadows they couldn't really see their clothes.

    Saturday, December 3rd, 2005
    8:07 pm
    dead friend dream

    At my parent's house, just me and my dad, sitting around, late at night, watching tv. A car pulls up under the maple tree, but we don't hear anyone get out. Dad decides to go investigate.  I urge him not to: "I don't like the sound of that," I say.  He goes outside anyway.  Soon I hear two doors slam and feet on the porch. The door slides open. I hear my dad's voice: "Look who I found!"

    First through the door is a short, feral-looking young woman who I do not recognize.  But behind her is a tall well-dressed man about my age. He looks strangely familiar. He smiles at me and I realize he looks just like my dead friend, Jerry.  "Don't you know me?" he says.  My brain is whirling.  Did he fake his death? I'm pretty sure they found the body. This has to be some sort of scam. I want so badly to say, "Jerry!" and grab him and hug him, but something's wrong. Of course it's been many years, he's older, his hair would naturally be different--styles changing, hair thinning.  He's got that freshly scrubbed face he always had. His smile is more cynical though. But if one has been on the lam for 15 years, one would tend to be more cynical. There's something cocky about this guy.

    "Don't you have a birthday coming up?" I ask. "On Sunday!" he says. But anyone could have looked that up. That doesn't prove anything.  He's grinning at me--he finds my suspicion funny; he must think he can meet any challenge I present. I want to believe, but it's just impossible.

    "Wait a second," I say, and walk into the living room to think in peace. I pace. It comes to me that no one but me and Jerry would know the names of our comic strip characters: Junky Jerry and Dummy Bummy Billy. Even our parents wouldn't have paid any attention to our primitive, nearly unreadable, cartooning. But Jerry would know. And the real Jerry would be able to list the supporting characters: Frogmouth, Bookworm, Champ Aine Eldridge, Stinko Sherman, Boothead Bobby,Wubbsy. He'd know that Boothead Bobby ate diapers, and that Wubbsy bounced.

    I return to the tv room to challenge him but out of the corner of my eye I see a flash, and when I enter the room, where "Jerry" was standing, there is a Down's Syndrome boy, without any pants. I look at him, and at the feral girl. I can't figure this out. Jesus fuck, this makes me so sad.  I knew it wasn't Jerry, but I wanted the possibility a while longer.

    "You'd better put some pants on," I say to the boy.

    --------

    Tomorrow is Jerry's birthday. I took some roses to his grave today. He hated cut flowers, but fuck him.

     

    Friday, December 2nd, 2005
    7:53 am
    Adopted by Julia Sweeney dream

    Dreamed on October 20, 1994:

    I walked into some store/coffee shop. They were playing a video where Bette Midler was introducing a performance by John Cale. You could tell she despised him. She said, "This is the new John Cale; the balladeer, not the rocker", her voice dripping with contempt. He launched into a sepulchral version of Da Doo Ron Ron, accompanying himself on piano.

    I saw Steve Shaviro at a table in the coffee shop. We talked about the new R.E.M. album. He was aghast that I'd bought it and hadn't listened to it yet, because he thought it was the greatest album ever made. I said, "Well, I heard What's the Frequency, Kenneth, on the radio in a Mexican restaurant, and I saw the end of the video, too." He rolled his eyes, and looked over his shoulder to demonstrate how lame I was.

    Steve was all excited because Marisa Tomei was going to do a mass adoption of everyone in the store that day. I said, "Then I better leave. I've already been adopted by Julia Sweeney." He asked if she was adopting people at the Film Festival. I said, "No, after the fest she went to Yard Birds and she was so impressed by the attention she got that she said, 'I just want to adopt you all'! Can you imagine that happening at Yard Birds?"

     

     

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